


a presidential debate

by Anonymous



Series: dream smp shorts [6]
Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Conversations, One-Sided Attraction, Threats, big q is just kinda really scared of schlatt, i guess, schlatt is a dick, which. understandable
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-16
Updated: 2020-11-16
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:41:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,180
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27587615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: quackity is so fucking tired.
Relationships: Alexis | Quackity/Jschlatt, VERY ONESIDED and just based off off what's in canon
Series: dream smp shorts [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2001529
Comments: 10
Kudos: 210
Collections: Anonymous





	a presidential debate

**Author's Note:**

> heyy! the uh. the war is very very soon. as we speak for me its tomorrow (or today, since its 1am) and i am terrified? i'll try to write something after it happens, maybe in a few days, to add on to this series.   
> this story would take place like,, very soon before the whole deal with big q shooting schlatt then making the deal with tommy.   
> (on the one sided attraction in the tags: nothing explicit, and again just basing it off of canon! i just reference it for a little bit when big q is thinking to himself)

quackity’s chest tightens the more he stands here, by schlatt’s side, in the presidential office.  _ the office that schlatt wants torn down _ , he remembers bitterly. remembering the numerous arguments, over and over and over, about this fucking place. it was all he had left from before all this shit. this was a place he had fun building, with tommy, before schlatt came into power. before tommy and wilbur were banished from l’manberg - well, manberg. 

he grimaces slightly, thinking of the blonde kid. well, not really a kid, tommy was  _ taller _ than him. not a child anymore. still not an adult, though. still young. too young to be dealing with all this shit. 

tubbo comes to mind.

he banishes that line of thought before he can continue it. 

schlatt’s voice startles him. “quackity, what’s the frown on your face for?”   


quackity eyes the man in the chair beside him, taking a moment to respond. “nothing, schlatt, just thinking.”   


“about what?” at first, he thinks schlatt sounds concerned, almost - odd. but then the man’s voice turns cold, malicious, even if the tone itself was still light and casual. 

“you’re not still thinking about that traitor are you?”   


“no, sir,” quackity bit out, a bit too quick. 

schlatt just rolls his eyes. “get over it, will you? the kid had it coming.”   


“he was a  _ kid _ ,” quackity mutters, under his breath, but his president still picked it up. 

a hand grasps his wrist and quackity winces - it fucking  _ burns _ , he hates any contact from schlatt, it makes him want to fucking puke. it feels like there’s fire all over his arm, concentrated in the little part where schlatt has him in his grip. 

“he was a traitor,” his president reminds him.

his president. 

“tubbo did what he thought he should’ve been, he was a kid, and kids are fucking stupid,” quackity retorts. “that doesn’t mean you fucking  _ kill them _ -”

“alex.”

the use of his real name makes him balk. looking at schlatt now - he had been avoiding the horned-man’s gaze the entire time - he could see the other just staring at him. head slightly tilted with narrowed eyes, full of contempt. 

quackity had begun to hate his real name lately, with how schlatt liked to use it. 

“alex,” schlatt starts again, “you’re  _ really _ making me think about how much you’ve been sympathizing with poor tubbo, there.”

and the tone, that fucking voice, is what makes quackity panic. it’s casual, relaxed, like they were talking about the fucking weather or something, but there was an undertone there of something. quackity could never figure out what it was, exactly - it was malicious, sure, definitely angry, but it was so much deeper than just that. it was fucking evil. 

that voice makes quackity’s heart race and his hands go clammy. it makes that nausea in his stomach - the nausea that seemed too present nowadays - get even stronger and he can feel the bile in his throat rise up. he’s scared. he is so fucking scared of the man not even threatening him, just loosely holding his wrist and looking at him minutely. 

schlatt  _ knows _ he’s scared, too, if that smug grin is anything to go by. 

“i’m not sympathizing,” quackity eventually says, every word painful to speak. 

schlatt tilts his head, not replying. a sign for him to keep going. 

“i- i just think, that, it would’ve been better if we just. imprisoned him instead. he was already trapped, we didn’t- we- you didn’t need to call up techno and have him killed. it was- it-”

quackity’s grimace returns, deeper than before.    


“it was what, alex.” schlatt wasn’t grinning anymore.    


he takes a deep breath.    


“it was way too fucking cruel, schlatt,” quackity says, his words steady and sounding braver than he is,” and i wish you had fucking listened to me when i objected.”

it takes too long for schlatt to respond. he’s thinking, quackity can see the cogs turning in his head. thinking about what to say, how to twist this in his favor, to make quackity the bad guy here, and to come out on top. always,  _ always _ , come out on top. 

and then the grip on quackity’s wrist tightens, suddenly and painfully, and schlatt yanks him down so they’re face to face. 

“you may be vice president but that’s only in name, and not anything else,” schlatt tells him, quick and firm, his words like knives digging themselves in. “you are here to listen to me and what i say and not to fucking object to anything. you’re too fucking useless anyway.”

quackity’s mouth is dry, and it feels like he can’t speak. he just stares at schlatt, wide eyed and so fucking terrified, only able to nod in response. schlatt isn’t satisfied with that. 

“fucking  _ answer me _ .”

“yes, sir,” quackity breathes out, voice so quiet. too quiet. he doesn’t like being like this. 

“get the hell out of here,” schlatt snaps, then, finally letting go of him. “and if you start talking about that goddamn traitor again, feeling bad for him, i’ll make an example out of you too. got it?”

quackity straightens up, backing off as he rubbed that wrist with his other hand. he’s in panic mode, hands shaking as he stares at schlatt.

“got it?” his president repeats with a hard glare. 

“yes, sir,” quackity responds, almost absently, before he manages to find his footing and absolutely  _ books it _ out of the doors, ignoring how they slam when he leaves and sprints down the hall. 

he messes with his bangs, vaguely irritated by how they fall in his face constantly. he must look like a fucking mess right now. pathetic. 

useless, like schlatt had said. 

his president. 

quackity scowls, wondering if karl was around to talk to and fuck around with, or just. just anyone. he didn’t want to be alone right now. being alone meant thinking, and he wanted mindless fun right now. not thinking about how utterly fucked he was, not thinking about the vice grip schlatt had on him like a fucking python.  not thinking about how he missed laughing and hanging out with schlatt in the beginning, during the election. when they were planning the coalition. when they just wanted to fucking hang out and  _ talk _ . 

quackity misses the moments when they spoke to each other in soft, low voices. he remembers how his heart just felt like it was going to fucking burst - from, what he was never really sure. 

not love. but something like it maybe. 

but now, whenever his heart felt like that, it was different. it was icy cold with fear instead of warm with affection. it was always when he was fucking panicking. scared he was going to be the one schlatt hurts next, except - unlike with tubbo - it’ll just be permanent. 

no one cares enough about quackity to care for injuries - not like tommy with tubbo. 

he swallows back the bile once again building in his throat, grimacing at the burn it leaves behind. 

it might be time to think about leaving soon, if he can handle it. 


End file.
